Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Imogen checked her reflection in the small mirror in the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her blazer and making sure her lipstick hadn’t bled in the fifteen minutes since she’d last applied it.
Her heart was beating so fast that she was genuinely concerned the photography crew might be able to hear it.
She knew she needed to be going over what she was going to say to the reporter when they arrived for the interview, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Lincoln’s face when he’d walked into her shop twenty minutes ago.
She’d seen the way he’d been looking at her sculpture, like it was the most incredible piece of art he’d ever seen, and it had made her heart melt. And then… the way he’d looked at her.
Like she was also the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
She’d remembered what it felt like for him to look at her that way.
It had felt good and confusing and terrifying all at once, and it was so much more than she could deal with when her shop was full of photographers and she was minutes away from one of the most important mornings of her entire life.
Imogen pressed her palms against her cheeks, trying to calm the flush she could feel building there.
She’d handled the whole conversation terribly.
She knew Lincoln probably wanted to find out why she hadn’t answered his texts or calls, and what was going on in her head after their sleigh ride.
She wished she’d just been able to tell him, so that she could know one way or another what he felt too.
But in the moment, she hadn’t been able to say any of it.
It had felt so much easier to just hide behind the preparations for the shoot and the interview, and it had been technically true that she still had things she needed to get ready.
But she also knew he was probably wondering why she’d been so distant.
It had probably just made things even more confusing for them both.
There was nothing she could do about it now, she told herself. She needed to be thinking about making a good impression for the magazine.
“Focus,” Imogen whispered to herself, straightening her shoulders and forcing her attention back to what was happening right that moment. “You can deal with Lincoln later. Right now, you need to make this interview amazing.”
She left the bathroom after one more once-over of her appearance, and walked over to check on her chocolate sculpture one more time. The piece sat on a display pedestal in the center, where the best light was coming in from the windows.
It was perfect. It showcased all of her abilities, everything she’d learned over the years and a lot of techniques she’d only heard of and had tried out just for this. It was the most ambitious thing she’d ever attempted, and she’d pulled it off exactly as she’d imagined it.
Unfortunately, it didn’t do much to take her mind off of Lincoln.
All she could think about, looking at it, was how the North Pole decorations he’d gotten in for the rink had been the inspiration for it.
How that afternoon when she’d played hooky from work to take Katie to the rink at his encouragement had been the catalyst for her finally deciding what the perfect project would be for the feature.
There was the smallest swoop in the roof, indiscernible unless someone knew where to look for it, and that immediately brought back the memory of Lincoln showing up and nearly knocking over the entire thing.
She pressed her lips together, remembering how terrified she’d been that it was going to be destroyed, and how relieved she’d been that they’d managed to right it without anything having been too badly damaged.
And that was the day they’d exchanged Secret Santa gifts.
It had seemed like such a coincidence at the time, but of course now she knew it hadn’t been.
They’d picked out the perfect gifts for each other, and she knew that was real, but she couldn’t stop the way her stomach dropped every time she remembered that their friends had orchestrated it.
The bell above the door chimed, interrupting her brooding, and Imogen turned to see a tall, elegant woman with perfectly styled dark brown hair enter the shop. She was carrying a leather messenger bag, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she walked in.
“Imogen?” the woman asked with a warm smile. “I’m Whitney Calahan from Sweet Confections magazine. Thank you so much for agreeing to feature your beautiful shop in our holiday issue.”
“Ms. Calahan!” Imogen replied, relief and anxiety together flooding through her as she realized that this was the moment she’d been preparing for all week.
She hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.
“It’s such an honor to have you here. I’m so excited about the opportunity to talk to you about my shop. ”
Whitney’s smile broadened as she looked around the shop with obvious appreciation.
“I have to tell you, the space is even more charming than I expected from the photos you sent. It’s exactly what I hoped it would be and more.
” She set down her bag, taking it all in for a moment longer.
“I’m going to start with photos, and then we’ll talk about your shop and the inspiration for all of this.
We can chat while I’m taking photos as well, if you like. Just to get comfortable.”
She and the photography crew began the work of taking photographs of the space—everything from wide shots of the shop itself to zoomed in pictures of each chocolate display, several photos of the hot chocolate counter before and after Imogen filled the mugs and topped them with whipped cream, marshmallows, and caramel, fudge, or pumpkin sauce, and pictures of the exterior as well before coming back inside.
As Whitney snapped photo after photo, Imogen felt herself beginning to relax into the familiar rhythm of talking about her business and her love for creating chocolates.
This was her element, the place where she felt most confident.
Whatever confusion she might have about her personal life, she knew chocolate.
She knew every aspect of her business, from sourcing ingredients, to creating custom treats, to managing customers.
She felt better and better by the moment, because she was talking about something she genuinely loved and understood completely.
“Tell me about your background,” Whitney said as she adjusted her camera settings. “How did you transition from whatever you were doing before to becoming a chocolatier?”
Imogen told her the story about finishing her business degree and being unsure what she wanted to do next, about coming back to Fir Tree Grove after college and meeting Katie’s father.
She quickly told a little of that story without getting too personal: just that she’d been a single mother with a baby, and wanted to make something for herself in her hometown.
She’d started small, making chocolates and desserts and cake pops for weddings and baby showers and other celebrations, until she had enough saved to rent her storefront.
“I loved how getting a treat can make someone’s day,” she said softly.
“It can be for a celebration, or it can be as simple as just needing something sweet for a pick-me-up. It can be something shared among others, or a perfect gift when you don’t know what to get.
There are so many ways that my chocolates can brighten up a moment, and I love thinking about all the moments that I’ve gotten to be a part of without ever really being there.
You start with a few ingredients, and it becomes this object of pleasure and joy. ”
Imogen smiled, feeling her spirits lift with every word.
“And it’s an artistic outlet too. Coming up with fun new flavors, finding just the right mixture of ingredients.
Making sure everything is aesthetically pleasing as well as beautiful.
There’s just so much to it, so much happiness and creativity, and I love every second.
I’ve never wanted to do anything else since I started. ”
Whitney nodded enthusiastically, photographing Imogen as she stood next to the displays. “That’s beautiful. And I understand you made a special centerpiece for today?”
“I did.” Imogen felt her nerves pick up again as she gestured toward the chocolate sculpture.
It felt like the moment of truth—everything else was second to this.
Pamela had seemed very clear about that.
She needed the ‘wow’ factor of the feature piece, or else the whole thing might fall flat.
“I recreated Santa’s workshop in chocolate.
I can talk about the different techniques I used, if you like.
Every piece is handcrafted. I know it’s a bit Christmas-y for the time of year this article will run, but my shop does the most business at Christmas, and this time of year is special to me and to the town.
I thought it really reflected the heart of Artisan Chocolates. ”
“There’s always room for Christmas any time of year,” Whitney said with a smile. “This is incredible. The level of detail, the craftsmanship—you really went all out. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Imogen felt a rush of pride as she watched Whitney photograph the sculpture from multiple angles, capturing the small details and larger shots that got every part of it in frame.
“This is going to be our cover shot,” Whitney said with certainty. “I can already see it—this gorgeous sculpture with the shop’s rustic backdrop behind it, a real snapshot of small-town vintage holiday cheer. Readers will love it no matter what time of year we run this piece.”
“Really?” Imogen could hardly believe what she was hearing. “The cover? Really?”
“Absolutely,” Whitney confirmed. “What was the inspiration for it? Just the connection you have to the holiday, or was there some particular story behind it?”
Imogen bit her lip, thoughts of Lincoln flooding back in. There was a story behind it, of course, but after the events of the last couple of days, she was no longer sure how she felt about talking about it.
But this was important. And she wanted to make sure that nothing affected how perfectly this had all gone, despite all the obstacles in her way.
“Well,” she started slowly, “we have a local ice rink here in town. I’m friends with the owner… close friends, actually. We used to date in high school.” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “That ended when I went off to college, but he moved back home, and…”
Imogen paused, realizing she was starting to ramble.
“We’re close, and my daughter skates at his rink a lot.
I was there watching her about a week ago, and he’d just gotten in this new display for the rink’s holiday decorations.
It was this entire North Pole setup… basically what you see here.
Santa’s workshop, the reindeer, the train, all of it.
I looked at it and I could just see how I would turn it into a chocolate sculpture.
It felt like it really captured the heart of what this town loves so much… what I love so much.”
Whitney looked at her curiously. “The holiday? That’s what you love?”
Imogen felt her cheeks flush, and she nodded quickly.
“Yes. Of course. And it felt like a little tribute to a space that means a lot to me too. My daughter spends so much time at the rink, and Lincoln—my friend—is always so patient with teaching her. She adores him. He’s a bright spot in our lives, just like my chocolates are for others, and…
I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to create as the showcase for my store. ”
“He sounds like a special person,” Whitney said with a smile.
“He really is,” Imogen said, her voice growing softer.
“He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.
Patient and funny and always willing to help.
And he has this way of making you feel like whatever you’re passionate about is the most important thing in the world.
He’s always been that way, even when we were young. ”
She paused, suddenly realizing how much she’d revealed about her feelings in the past few minutes. Whitney was watching her with the pleased expression of a journalist who had stumbled onto a much more interesting story than she’d expected to find.
“I’m sorry,” Imogen said quickly, heat flooding her cheeks. “I’m rambling again. You’re here to talk about chocolate, not my personal life.”
“Are you kidding?” Whitney said with a grin.
“This is exactly the kind of human interest angle that makes features great. This isn’t just a chocolate sculpture, it’s a reference to the heart of your town and what’s in your heart—your daughter and the places that mean something to you and this friend who clearly means a lot to you too.
This is perfect. It’s going to be the best holiday feature we’ve ever had. ”
“Really?” Imogen smiled weakly, feeling a little better, even though she felt as if she’d let too much of herself be seen.
“Really,” Whitney confirmed.
The rest of the interview passed in a blur, with Whitney asking detailed questions about Imogen’s chocolate-making process and business plans while the photographer captured images of her working behind the counter and arranging displays in the cases.
Imogen felt good about her answers, but a part of her mind was still lingering on Lincoln and everything she’d said to Whitney about what he meant to her.
By the time Whitney and the photography crew packed up their equipment and prepared to leave, Imogen felt completely drained.
“You were amazing,” Whitney said. “I can’t wait for you to see the finished spread. The magazine is going to be thrilled.”
“Thank you so much,” Imogen replied, aware that she sounded both happy and exhausted all at once. “This opportunity means more to me than I can express. I can’t wait to see the end result.”
As she watched Whitney and the crew leave, she felt tired and proud and satisfied, a little disbelieving that she’d pulled it off in the end and thrilled that it had all gone so well.
But underneath it all, her heart still felt like a mess. She was beyond happy that the interview had been such a resounding success, but when it came to Lincoln, things were more complicated than ever.
She was left with an aching heart and a tired mind, and all she wanted to do was go home and sleep both off until she knew what to do.
There was no clear answer, and she wasn’t sure if there ever would be one.